The Minister's Son
by Inibaz
Summary: AU. Fudgeritus – that’s right, Fudge has Harry taken from the Dursleys a year before he goes to Hogwarts. Includes an alcoholic Mrs Fudge, Malfoys, Dumbledore the Muggle-born activist, an Azkaban escapee and later, Tom Riddle.
1. Saving Harry Potter

**I am Master Slytherin. **The shock, the horror etc etc. I am putting this here in the hopes that when I eventually put this story back on my main account, I don't get complaints.

* * *

**Summary:** The basic premise is this: Fudge is struggling to keep his job and investigates every possible way of salvaging his career. So he adopts Harry. Just to quell any fears - Harry will NOT be an annoying, spoilt prince. We have Draco for that. I believe in having a clear, smooth, reasoned route from canon's characterisation to fandom characterisation. I don't believe in hiding behind the weak 'it's AU' argument. So no, Fudge won't be the father figure Harry craves, but he won't be evil either. The Malfoys will be as they are in canon, but from the perspective of a Harry who isn't as biased as canon Harry. Dumbledore will be Dumbledore, Snape will be Snape etc.

Since I don't believe in 're-do' fics that almost comically drag out Harry's House placement, I'll lay it out now: Harry will be in Slytherin. He will still be Harry. No, Ron won't be the new Malfoy.

Now, the plot. The adoption of Harry (and obviously, the discovery that the Dursleys treated him like shit) will have significant cause-and-effect ramifications. So much so that there will only be minor, fleeting references to canon in this story. This isn't a 're-do' fic - I'm not interested in retracing Rowling's footsteps.

Finally, the romance. Simply put, it will be practically non-existent. And there won't be any slash because writing slash well would involve really exploring the issues around homosexuality and how they would apply in the context of magical Britain (not Harry shagging everyone). And, frankly, the issue of Muggle-born rights is more pertinent to this plot.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Very occasionally, I will use a line or two from canon, particularly in the first few chapters – obviously anything you recognise is Rowling's. This disclaimer covers all chapters.

* * *

– CHAPTER ONE** –**

**Saving Harry Potter**

* * *

After a relentless, sticky day, Kingsley Shacklebolt was relieved to see the sun finally disappear behind the neat semi-detached skyline of Privet Drive. According to the brief, he and his partner were to wait until nightfall before entering number four, but Kingsley was disinclined to waste any more time.

"Explain why we're here again?"

Though he could not see Peter Savage through his Disillusionment Charm, Kingsley could tell that the man's rat-like face would be contorted into an irritated scowl.

"For the hundredth time," sighed Kingsley, "we're here because Robards told us to come here."

"But what's the _point_?"

"Orders are orders. We go in, make sure everything is normal and report back to Headquarters."

"But we're _Aurors, _not bloody child-minders!"

"That's the Boy-Who-Lived in there, Savage."

"Yeah...I guess...but still!"

Kingsley edged towards the front door and pressed his ear against the burnished wood. No sound_. _

_Alohamora!_

With a soft click, the door inched inward. Careful not to make a sound, Kingsley slipped into the hallway. The barely audible closing of the door told him that Savage had done the same.

Lesson one in the Academy: evaluate your surroundings. The house appeared as ordinary on the inside as it was on the outside. Neat. Tidy. Middle class. Almost the exact opposite of the one-bedroom hovel he had grown up in. But he expected no better for the Boy-Who-Lived, the darling of the wizarding world.

The slightest brush on his right side told him that Savage was on his way upstairs. Secretly, Kinglsey was glad he would not be forced to have his nose rubbed in the Potter boy's living quarters. After all, he had experienced enough of that during holiday visits to his classmates' expansive manors and summer villas.

A golden glow bordered the door to his immediate left and the voices told him that the family were probably enjoying an evening meal, or perhaps watching television. He silently placed a Muggle-repelling charm on the door - after all, it did not matter if Potter found them; he would simply explain that the Ministry had sent them. His concentration was almost broken by a booming laugh coming from the other side of the door.

"...and anyway, even if Ripper _does _bite him, it shall teach him a life lesson!"

More laughter.

Muggles, thought Kingsley, shaking his head.

He checked the door beneath the stairs. Just a dark cupboard. The dining room, too, was clear and just as spotless as the rest of the house. It did not look like he would find any incriminating evidence, minor or major.

"Upstairs is clear," whispered Savage. A lesser man may have jumped in surprise, but not Kingsley.

"Nothing at all?" asked Kingsley.

"Well, I guess the boy's bedroom is a little barren, looks more like a hotel room than somewhere somebody's actually living in."

Kingsley frowned. It was worth reporting, but he was not going to waste any time investigating further himself. After all, they had pulled him off the Wade murder case for this. "Anything else?"

"Well, there's no sign of any magic at all. I've checked every room, but it's almost as though this is truly a house full of Muggles. Do you think perhaps the boy is a Squib?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Savage. He defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the age of one. He's definitely magical..."

"Perhaps we should have him tested just in case."

"So you're volunteering to do the mountain of paperwork that comes with hauling in a child, Harry Potter no less, for testing?"

"I guess not. There was another strange thing, though. The parents have a family picture at their bedside table, and there is no sign of Harry Potter, only an extremely fat child who resembles his parents too much to be Potter."

Had Potter been moved? It would explain why there was no evidence of the boy in the house. After all, it was hard to believe that after ten years or so, the child had made no impression on his bedroom.

"Let's check the kitchen then report back," said Kingsley.

The kitchen was unnaturally clean, even more than the other rooms. But, just as the other rooms, it seemed utterly ordinary. He was ready to call it a day when -

"Shacklebolt, I think you might want to see this."

Kingsley, who had been casting a Revealing Charm on the cupboard under the sink, looked up. Savage, of course, was invisible. "I can't see where you're pointing at," said Kingsley, exasperated.

"Oh right, sorry. The garden...I think I might be dreaming..."

Kingsley peered out into the garden. Though night had well and truly fallen, he could make out the silhouette of a boy cowering in a tree and what appeared to be a bulldog at its base. The dog was growling and jumping. Surely not...

Kingsley Apparated into the garden and, before either the boy or dog could comprehend the situation, stunned the dog. Next he levitated the boy and placed him safely on the soft grass.

"W-Who's there?"

The boy's voice was quiet and cracked, as though it had not been used in a long while. Kingsley removed his Disillusionment Charm and lit his wand. The sight of the boy disgusted him. His painfully thin frame was further accentuated by the over-sized, dirty jumper that seemed to engulf him. His glasses were held together by countless layers of sellotape and his messy hair looked as though it had not seen water in days. He had seen house-elves in better condition. His mind told him it could not possibly be Harry Potter, the last of the incredibly wealthy Potters. But there, right above his right eye, was the mythical lightning-shaped scar.

Kingsley felt nothing but shock. This was a child who did not even look his age. The extent of the abuse and neglect inflicted upon him were there for all to see. The blistered feet, the bruised cheek, the knees bleeding through the trousers. He look back up to the boy's face and realised Potter was terrified.

"It's alright, son," said Kingsley, trying to recover his reassuring tone, "we're Aurors. We're here to help you."

"W-What?"

"We're Aurors," repeated Kingsley. How could the boy not have heard of Aurors? "From the Ministry of Magic," he added, but that only heightened the look of confusion on Potter's face.

"Magic?" said the boy. "There's no such thing."

"Savage," said Kingsley, not taking his eyes off Potter, "get Robards. This is way over our heads." With a _crack_, Savage was gone.

"H-He just disappeared," stammered Potter.

"That is because he is a wizard," said Kingsley, stifling a sigh. How could it be that the Boy-Who-Lived knew _nothing_? "And so are you."

"I'm a wizard?"

"Yes, and a rather special one at that. Let's go back inside and have a word with your relatives."

To Kingsley's surprise, this suggestion was met with a look of abject fear on the young boy's face.

"I-I don't think Uncle Vernon wants to be disturbed," muttered the boy. "And Aunt Marge is here and she gets really scary when she's had too much -"

"I assure you that it will take a lot more than two drunk Muggles to get the best of me, Mr Potter."

"Muggle?"

"A person who does not have magical ability."

"If you don't mind, I'd really rather return to my cupboard and you can come back and talk to them tomorrow -"

"Your _cupboard?_" hissed Kingsley.

"Well, yes."

"Why on earth would you want to go to the cupboard in your room?" asked Kingsley, dreading the answer.

Potter cocked his head, as though Kingsley had asked the most stupid question in the world. "The cupboard _is_ my room, sir."

"Show me."

"I'm really not meant to let strangers -"

"I'm not a stranger, Potter. I come from the world you belong to, your parents' world."

"My parents were wizards, too?"

"Yes. Well, technically speaking, your mother was a witch, and a very gifted one at that. Hang on, let me sort out those knees of yours." To Potter's amazement, he healed the gashes and vanished the blood. "Now show me your room."

"Alright, but we've got to be really quiet. Uncle Vernon gets angry if I make too much noise."

"Your Uncle is locked in the living room, for all intents and purposes." Kingsley could feel his anger at the Muggle relatives swell with every passing second. How _dare_ they treat a child, a blood relation no less, with such contempt?

But nothing could have prepared him for Potter's living arrangements.

Potter was opening the cupboard Kingsley had examined minutes earlier. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"You asked me to show you where I live, sir."

Potter flicked a switch, but the dying lamp provided practically no light.

_Lumos!_

Cobwebs, broken toys, and a tiny bed. It was worse than a cell at Azkaban.

"Dear God...you sleep _here?_"

"It's not _that_ bad," said Potter defensively.

Kingsley's silent fuming was interrupted by the appearance of Savage and Robards.

"Shacklebolt, report," barked Robards.

With some difficulty, he controlled his anger. "These Muggles he has been placed with have inflicted significant abuse on the boy, both physical and mental. He knows _nothing_ –"

"I do know some things!" piped Potter, his young face defiant. "I'm pretty good at maths and stuff..." The boy trailed off, unable to continue while under Robards' intense gaze. Kingsley did not blame him, he had seen grown men cower under the Deputy's piercing stare. He shot the boy a sympathetic smile.

"This _cupboard_," continued Kingsley, "is his room. As Savage has probably informed you, we found him being attacked by a bulldog –"

"He didn't _attack_ me," muttered Potter.

"I admire courage, Potter," snapped Robards, "but do not interrupt Auror Shacklebolt again."

"In short," said Kingsley, "we can mount a serious criminal case against these Muggles and whoever deemed them worthy of the Boy-Who-Lived."

Robards smiled, but when he did he looked more like a tiger baring its teeth. "Savage, bring Rita Skeeter; Shacklebolt, alert Scrimgeour, then the Minister. Looks like we have a good, old-fashioned scandal on our hands."

Cornelius Fudge raised a glass of red currant rum and said, "To Harry Potter."

"To Harry Potter," replied Dolores in her high, breathy voice.

He downed his drink in one and gazed over Rita Skeeter's latest concoction.

_**Muggles Torture Boy-Who-Lived, Dumbledore Implicated**_

Discussion over his _'questionable leadership ability'_ and _'mishandling of the People's Wand affair'_were cast into centre-page obscurity. Mere days ago, the Wizengamot had given a vote of no confidence in him and the various heads of department had been distancing themselves from him in an attempt to further their own ministerial ambitions.

"I rather think," said Dolores, "that you should proceed to phase two of the plan tomorrow. That gives the public a day to build on their outrage."

"I quite agree."

"I still think the adoption will be contested, Cornelius. After all, the Macmillans, Malfoys and Greengrasses all have closer blood ties than your family. A serious appeal by any one of those families could undo all the work we've done."

"True," said Fudge, "but you're forgetting that those Muggles will allow me – us – to push through that anti-Muggle legislation all three of those families have been full-square behind."

"Do you really think adopting Potter will make a diff –"

But she was interrupted by a swift knock on his door.

"Come in, Lucius," called Fudge. Only Lucius Malfoy could have made it as far as his office without Fudge being notified.

Lucius swept into the room, snake-head cane and all, and fixed Fudge with his cold smile. "Congratulations, Minister," he said.

"Thank you, Lucius. Please, take a seat. Dolores, could you inform Margaret that I want courtroom ten ready for a full trial tomorrow."

Dolores smiled sweetly, but Fudge knew that she was seething at her casual dismissal. After all, she foolishly believed herself to be the one holding the strings, a view shared across the Wizengamot.

"Would you like a drink, Lucius?" asked Fudge, pouring the man a generous amount of rum.

"Thank you, Cornelius. So I see Miss Skeeter has her sights on Dumbledore again."

Fudge took another long sip, measuring his response in the meantime. He had a healthy respect for Dumbledore – after all, the man was a genius – but if it was a choice between Dumbledore and his own political career...

"Well," said Fudge, "if she got her facts right, I daresay he deserves to be brought in front of the Wizengamot."

"I am having my lawyers scrutinise the will as we speak – after all, he was my cousin. Would you like a copy?"

"The MLE are already getting their teeth into it. I do wonder how that woman gets her information sometimes, not that I'm complaining."

"Indeed," said Lucius, setting down his empty glass. "However, I have it on good authority that Lily Potter's relationship with her sister was non-existent. The chances of the Muggle having been allowed custody legally are slim at best."

"In which case Dumbledore deserves what's coming to him," said Fudge, pouring himself another glass of rum. "I assume the board of governors will be looking for a replacement?"

"I would have thought so...do you have any recommendations?"

Fudge smiled; Lucius really was a political mastermind. He knew that Fudge would not suggest an unsuitable candidate. So if the board went with the Minister's recommendation, Lucius would feel as though he was owed a favour. Well, thought Fudge, I'm not stupid enough to fall for this.

"I'll support whoever the board decide on."

"Excellent," said Lucius. "There is no precedent, of course, but I assume Minerva McGonagall will temporarily replace Dumbledore until we find a more suitable alternative."

"Minerva is a fine choice, very fine indeed."

"A question remains," said Lucius delicately, "over where the boy will live..."

Fudge set his cup down a little harder than he had intended. "I will take him."

Lucius' smile faltered. "Forgive me, Minister, but do you think that wise?"

"Certainly. We have the resources, we know he will not be harmed there and Nicole has always wanted a child."

"All good reasons, I am sure, but the boy should be with his blood."

"His blood locked him in a spider-filled cupboard, Lucius."

"Are you suggesting –"

"I am not suggesting anything," snapped Fudge, but he knew he had gone too far. After all, Lucius had almost single-handedly funded every project Fudge had undertaken. "Merely that Harry may prefer a home dynamic more tailored to him. After all, you and Narcissa already have your hands full with young Draco, and he may resent Harry's presence."

"You surely have no time for a child and Nicole's extensive charity work –"

"Let us speak frankly, Lucius," said Fudge, pouring himself another glass of rum. "We go way back and we both know this game. I _need_ to adopt Harry; he is the key to my survival. I need to tie my name with his, so that the public adulation for him becomes adulation for me. The Wizengamot would not dare vote out the Minister who _rescued _Harry and avenged him. It would be too damaging for them. This could make me untouchable."

"I think you are rather oversimplifying –"

"You can have him over whenever you like, of course, but my name needs to be on those forms." Lucius did not look any more convinced; they both knew he could simply appeal the adoption and win Harry on the blood card. Fudge would be a laughing stock, his political career would be all but over. He could see the headlines now: _Fudge Attempted To Steal Harry Potter._ "I would be forever indebted to you if you grant me legal custody of Harry."

Lucius slowly stood up, his lips pursed. For a wild moment, Fudge thought he was about to attack him.

"Very well, Minister. However, this is a very great favour I am granting you. It would not do to forget my generosity today, nor that the boy in your custody is my nephew. Should he be mistreated in any way..." His threatening smile bore into Fudge for what seemed like an eternity.

"He'll be treated like a prince," said Fudge, also standing. "I must be off; Harry and Nicole are waiting at home."

Lucius nodded curtly and left the office, leaving Fudge to his thoughts. On one hand, he was beyond relieved that Lucius had allowed him custody of Harry – the other families would also back down, thinking the Malfoys knew something they did not. But on the other hand, he was further indebted to Lucius and, unlike the financial debt, he had no idea how this new, personal debt would be repaid.

He turned to the only portrait in the room, a frog-like little man in a dirty oil-painting practically hidden away in the far corner of the room.

"Charles, I would like you to inform the Muggle Prime Minister that two Muggle residents of Surrey will be disappearing from the Muggle world to stand trial. Their disappearances will be adequately covered."

Without acknowledgement, the man in the painting disappeared.

Fudge glanced longingly at the half-finished bottle of rum before Disapparating.


	2. Dante Cottage

* * *

– CHAPTER TWO** –**

**Dante Cottage

* * *

**

It had been the best twenty-four hours of Harry's life. After a slightly painful interview with a journalist called Rita-something and having to re-enact the incident with Ripper for the photographer, Kingsley had taken him to the Ministry of Magic. There really was a Ministry of Magic!

He had seen people in strange robes appear out of fires completely unharmed, pieces of parchment zip around unaided, and paintings whose occupants moved at will. Despite Mr Robards' strict instructions that he was to stay in Kingsley's cubicle, Harry had convinced Kingsley to let him watch an actual interrogation!

But what had surprised Harry the most was other wizards' reactions to him. Everywhere they went, he was greeted by well-wishers and admirers. One witch nearly fainted when Harry shook her hand. Despite Kingsley telling him that the Aurors were the most over-worked and highly regarded Ministry workers, he had been swarmed when they entered Auror Headquarters.

Far from seeing him as a nuisance, the Aurors were warm and accommodating. They patiently answered all his questions about magic, though Harry was sure they had avoided some. One of the Aurors, Proudfoot, had even taught Harry how to stun someone and, to Harry's delight, called him 'a natural'.

Harry was dismayed when Kingsley said, "We've got to go now."

"Go where?" asked Harry churlishly; after all, Proudfoot had promised to teach him how to shield himself on his next break.

"Your new home," said Kingsley, leading Harry out of the Headquarters.

"I'm not going back to the Dursleys?" asked Harry, hardly daring to believe it. He had convinced himself that this had been some kind of dream, that he would wake up in his cupboard tomorrow.

"You really think we'd take you back _there_?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder at the working Aurors. "Can't I say bye to –"

"We don't have time to deal with another mobbing," said Kingsley. "And they do have work to do, you know."

"Sorry," said Harry, feeling a little guilty that he had been such a distraction.

"No need to apologise, you're a hero to them, after all."

"I've been meaning to ask about that –"

"There's no time, we're late enough as it is."

They stepped into the lift which, other than a memo, was empty.

"Late for what?"

"Mrs Fudge is expecting us."

"Isn't that the Minister's wife?"

"Good, you're catching on. We'll make a wizard out of you yet, Harry."

'_The Atrium,' _said the cool female voice in the lift. They stepped out on to the polished, dark wood. Harry now had to jog to keep up with Kingsley's brisk strides.

"But why is she expecting us? Surely she has loads of other important things to do?"

Kingsley smiled faintly. They passed the beautiful statue that stood in the centre of the atrium

"Nothing more important than this."

Suddenly, it clicked, and Harry stopped in his tracks, his jaw slack.

Kingsley sighed. "We really don't have time –"

"Am I going to _live_ with the Minister and Mrs Fudge?"

"Yes."

"But –"

"Save your questions for Mrs Fudge. Now let's _go_."

Harry's legs felt like jelly. He had expected to be taken to some kind of distant relative of his father's, or perhaps a magical orphanage. But to have the Minister of Magic himself take him in... Surely he was too busy and Harry would get in the way. Or, even worse, they had children of their own who would be angry at Harry's arrival. What if the Minister was really old, like the Prime Minister?

"Hold on to my arm," said Kingsley. Harry did so, his mind still spinning.

For the second time in his life, he felt as though he was being squeezed from every side. Just when he thought he would die of suffocation, he was released and breathed lungfuls of fresh air.

A great lake stretched out before him, the water glistening like crystals under the dying daylight. Hills rose from the banks of the lake and climbed to form a jagged, craggy horizon. They were covered in what looked like a brown carpet which was occasionally interrupted by greens and greys.

"This way, Harry."

"Why couldn't we have Appartus'd into their house?"

"Apparated," corrected Kingsley. "And there are powerful enchantments preventing direct entry into the Minister's cottage."

Harry turned around and followed Kingsley up a narrow path that was surrounded on either side by tall, thin trees. It might have been Harry's imagination, but he could have sworn he had seen one or two of the trees lean towards him. He was quite glad when they came to a set of wrought-iron gates, beyond them a wider path. On either side, perched regally upon marble pillars, were two statues, each a magnificent bird with orange garnets for eyes.

"Phoenixes," muttered Kingsley, catching Harry's look of wonderment. "They are extremely rare – the Ministry are only aware of two in the entire country." He glanced up at one of the phoenix statues and said, "I am Kingsley Shackelbolt, here to present Harry Potter to Mrs Fudge."

To Harry's amazement, both statues simultaneously spread their wings.

"Come, Harry."

"But the gates are still shut!"

"What you will soon learn is that there's more to things than meet the eye." And with that, he stepped _through_ the solid gates.

Harry tentatively stretched out his hand, unwilling to commit his whole body. To his relief and surprise, it too went straight through the gate. His body followed his hand.

Their shoes clicked against granite and the path snaked up to an archway and out of sight. Either side of them was a well-maintained meadow that was punctuated with flower-beds, bushes, two oak trees and even a small pond.

Beyond the archway, they came to the largest house Harry had ever seen. It was at least twice the size of number four and had a casual elegance Aunt Petunia would have killed for. Stairs of deep mahogany led up to a porch. They traipsed up to the front door, which swung open of its own accord.

"We wait here for Mrs Fudge," said Kingsley.

As he glanced into the entry, he could hardly contain his nerves. He could just imagine Mrs Fudge taking one look at him, at his horrible clothes and messy hair, and deciding that she did not want such a scruff-bag in her house. Certainly the short man in the portrait nearest the entrance was staring at Harry with a look of disdain. Or was he imagining it?

Just as he was about to ask Kingsley if they could turn back, a tall woman dressed all in white appeared from the kitchen. Her skin was taut and pale, but glowed. Her white-streaked, blonde hair rose high up on her forehead and fell in loose curls, giving her the distinct look of European royalty. It was clear that she had been quite beautiful in her youth.

"Harry Potter," she said, her lips curved into a small smile. Her voice was high, almost musical. Harry extended his hand but she batted it away with a chuckle and embraced him in a warm hug. Relief rushed through him.

"Hello, Mrs Fudge," he said quietly. Her strong perfume made Harry quite light-headed.

"Please, it's Nicole. What a handsome young man you are! Just like your father at his age, though he was not quite _so_ skinny..." Her grey eyes met Kingsley. "Auror Shacklebolt, always a pleasure."

She extended her thin hand, which Kingsley lightly kissed. "Thank you, Mrs Fudge."

"You're excused," she said, in what Harry considered to be a rather short manner.

"With all due respect, ma'am, my orders are to remain until the Minister returns."

"Are you suggesting," she said, "that I am unfit to look after Harry?" Her tone remained pleasant, but her eyes had lost some warmth.

"Of course not, I am merely following orders."

"Well, you can tell Rufus that he knows what I think of his _orders_."

Kingsley and Nicole stared at each other during a tense silence. Harry felt uncomfortable just standing there. But, at last, Kingsley nodded. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Take care of yourself, Harry. I'm sure we'll see each other soon."

"Thanks for everything, Kingsley," said Harry. He was sad to see Kingsley go; he had been a reassuring and calm presence. One day, he hoped to be a great Auror just like he was.

"Mrs Fudge, your servant," he said, bowing. And with that, he was gone.

"I can't say how happy I am that you are living with us," said Nicole, ruffling Harry's hair. "Come, let me show you your bedroom."

She led him through the hallways, up the stairs and through the first door to the left. Harry's jaw dropped. The bedroom was _huge_. The focal point was the ruby-red king-size bed, complete with at least a dozen pillows. Harry went over to the window and was delighted to see it overlooked the lake.

"If it's not the right colour, we can change it," said Nicole, misconstruing Harry's silence as dissatisfaction. "And, of course, you can move things around if you rather prefer the light –"

"It's perfect," said Harry. "But Mrs F- Nicole, this is too much. I mean, why me?"

A look of sadness passed over Nicole's face. "Sit down, Harry," she said. He took a seat on the bed, and she sat down beside him.

"After the Dark Lord murdered your parents –"

"What?" said Harry, his breath caught in his throat. Nicole looked at him quizzically. "My parents died in a car crash."

The sadness on her face was replaced by one of sickening pity. "Whatever those _Muggles_ –" She practically spat the word. "– told you was wrong. Your parents were murdered, my dear."

"No," muttered Harry, "the Aurors would have told me otherwise..."

"They probably didn't want to upset you," she said, gently squeezing his thigh.

"They – they were murdered? By who?"

"A dangerous Dark Wizard whose name I daren't utter. We know him as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Why can't you say his name?"

"He tore so many families apart, did so much damage that, even though he has gone, most of us will not willingly utter his name. It is like a curse. But, just this once...I suppose no harm will come of it...his name was _Voldemort_." Nicole flinched.

"Was? So he's dead?"

"Yes, Harry. You killed him."

"_I_ killed him?!"

"They say that after he had killed your parents, he turned his wand on you but somehow, he became unstuck. I have seen – he has killed more people than you could know but you, a baby, defeated him. Did you not wonder why you have that scar? Or why you are famous? You, Harry, are the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry's head spun as he tried to take in all this information. That was why all those people had been so friendly to him! They thought he was some kind of hero...

"After you were found," said Nicole, her lips thinning, "a wizard who your parents looked up to and trusted took you to your aunt's house despite your parents' wishes. Now, your father had no close relatives, but there were a few distant relations that would have been glad to take you in – I am one of them. So, you see, you are not a burden to us. Far from it."

She gave Harry the second hug he had ever experienced and this time, he felt slightly less awkward about it.

It was like a balloon was inflating inside him. He had magical relatives! And they were kind and loving! He would probably never see the Dursleys ever again!

Nicole glanced at her gold watch. There were no numbers, only five hands and strange symbols where the numbers should have been. "Cornelius will be home any minute," said Nicole. "Let's go to the dining room."

The dining room, with its orange walls and red curtains, looked as though it were on fire. However, the mahogany upholstery was elegant and the meadow view added a welcoming feel to the room.

As soon as they took their seats, a man appeared in the doorway so suddenly that Harry almost fell off his chair. He wore a pin-striped suit, long black cloak and pointed purple boots. In his hands was a lime green bowler hat. This, Harry assumed, was the Minister for Magic, though from his appearance, he would not have guessed it.

"Harry, Harry, Harry, what an honour to meet you at last." Harry stood and they shook hands.

"Hello, Minister," said Harry.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Nicole, taking the Minister's cloak, "call him Cornelius."

"Well, that might be a little...but I suppose, in a way, yes, call me Cornelius."

Cornelius took his seat at the head of the table and motioned for Harry to join him. Nicole, who had presumably been to the cloakroom, returned moments later.

Cornelius lent into his plate and said, "Dinner."

To Harry's shock, a feast fit for twenty people appeared before his eyes. There was lasagne, casserole, spaghetti bolognese, meatballs, and other dishes Harry did not even recognise. It was only then that he realised how hungry he was; his stomach was practically roaring. He glanced up at Nicole, who smiled benignly.

"What are you waiting for?" she said. "Eat up!"

Harry did not need to be told twice and he dived into the lasagne.

"So, Harry," said Cornelius, "how do you like Dante Cottage?"

Harry chewed furiously and swallowed. "It's really beautiful. Thank you so much for letting me live with you."

"You're wel –"

"No need to thank us," interjected Nicole. "Here, try the chicken katsu curry." She piled curry and rice onto Harry's plate and pointedly ignored Cornelius' look of annoyance. Harry, who was already full but did not want to seem rude, noticed the way Cornelius delicately ladled his rice and furtively tried to copy him.

"So, Harry m'boy, we need to discuss tomorrow's –"

"_Must_ we discuss this at the dinner table?" said Nicole.

"Yes, we must," said Fudge firmly.

"Perhaps you want to ask Harry how _his_ day has been first?"

Harry, who did not want to come between them, focussed hard on his plate.

"Scrimgeour has debriefed me, _dear_. I know _exactly _how his day has been –"

"I rather think you would prefer to hear it from your adopted _son_ rather than some grizzled Auror –"

Before he could help himself, Harry yawned loudly, causing both adults to look at him. He felt his cheeks burn. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"See," snapped Nicole, "he's already tired! He can hear about your public humiliation of him tomorrow morning. Come, Harry, dear."

Harry looked between Cornelius, who was spluttering, and Nicole, who was tight-lipped. Who should he disobey? To his immense relief, he was saved making a decision when Nicole gently but firmly dragged him to his feet. As they left the room, Harry glanced back at Cornelius. He was finishing his dinner while muttering angrily.

Moments later, Harry was lying in the most comfortable bed he had ever slept in. Not that there was any competition – there had been his old bed in the cupboard, Mrs Figg's couch and a few hours curled up in the Auror on-call room. And then there was the entirely new experience of having Nicole tuck him into bed. Even though he knew he should feel embarrassed – he _was _ten – it was remarkably comforting.

Harry thought he heard raised voices coming from downstairs. He was about to investigate, but fell asleep almost at once.

The next morning, Harry made his bed and found the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, the over-riding theme was mahogany splashed with hints of beige and orange. Though not quite as spotlessly clean as Aunt Petunia's kitchen, it was certainly roomier. Dappled morning light peaked through the drawn curtains and Harry felt as though he was in a dream.

It took him a while to find the refrigerator – it appeared to be a small cutlery cupboard, but when Harry opened the door, it was large enough for him to walk into and completely full. What was more, there was no sign of wiring or the dull whir he was used to hearing. Within minutes, he had eggs boiling, bacon frying and the kettle whistling.

"Honker, this is a little early –"

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Nicole was stood bleary-eyed in the doorway. She was wearing a silk, silver dressing gown.

"Harry?"

"Breakfast is nearly ready."

"Harry –"

"Oh, don't you like bacon and eggs? I can make toast if you like..."

Nicole looked like she was crossed between surprise and bemusement. "Harry, why are you making breakfast? We have a house-elf for that."

"A what?"

"Honker!" called Nicole.

There was a loud _crack_ and a...creature, Harry guessed, appeared in the middle of the kitchen. It had pointy ears, brown rags that might have once been white, and large eyes that were staring transfixed on the simmering bacon in abject horror.

"Honker," said Nicole, her tone cold and severe, "this is Harry Potter who is now also your master. You see how he has made breakfast? You see how you have failed him?"

"Master Harry Potter, sir!" squeaked the house-elf. "Honker is sorry! Honker is sorry!"

And, to Harry's shock, the house elf grabbed the nearest frying pan and began whacking itself on the head with it.

"What are you doing?" cried Harry.

"It is the only way she will learn," said Nicole. But Harry grabbed the frying pan out of Honker's hand, only for Honker to pick up a wok.

"Stop!" shouted Harry, and, to his amazement, the house-elf froze just as the wok was about to crash against her skull.

Nicole sighed. "Finish the breakfast, Honker. Harry and I will take it in the dining room."

Honker bowed so low her long nose brushed the wooden floor. "Yes, Master."

"Come, Harry."

"What does a house-elf do?" asked Harry as they went to dining room.

"They are our servants. You will find them in wizarding houses. Well –" She tittered. "– not _every_ wizarding house. There are some families that don't even _have_ a house-elf, can you believe? Well, we won't concern ourselves with that kind, anyway."

Harry, who did not quite know what to say, merely made a neutral sound.

"Breakfast," said Nicole and the dining table became laden with cereals, toast, egg of all assortments and, of course, bacon. "I suppose Honker can't take all the blame, she expects me to rise much later."

"Oh, did I wake you?"

"Goodness no," said Nicole airily, but Harry was quite sure she was lying. "Now since Cornelius isn't here to pick you up yet –"

"Wasn't he sleeping as well?"

"Goodness no," laughed Nicole, "he's already hours into his work day."

"But it can't be later than nine!"

"He's the Minister for Magic," said Nicole, and Harry thought he could hear some bitterness. "His hours are highly unsocial – I'm afraid you may not see quite as much of him as you'd hoped." She sipped her drink. "But we have each other, and that's got to count for something, right?"

Harry smiled and took a sip of his drink. He yelped in pain and dropped his cup. It was like he had just drunk fire! Red, spitting liquid oozed out of his goblet like lava.

"Oh my goodness!" cried Nicole. His eyes watered as the fire trickled down his throat. "Drink this!"

Harry took the clear liquid he had been offered and downed it one. He sighed in relief as the pain subsided. Was that what wizards drank in the morning? He certainly hoped not.

"I can only apologise, my dear. Honker clearly gave you the wrong drink. I shall have words with her later..."

Harry winced as he imagined the kind of the damage the poor house-elf would inflict upon herself after this.

"It's ok," muttered Harry. Nicole flicked her wand and the oozing liquid disappeared.

"As I was saying," said Nicole, "Cornelius, or an Auror more likely, was meant to come around and pick you up. But I guess I shall have to do the honours now."

"Why?"

"It is important," said Nicole, not quite meeting his eye, "that we show our peers that we will not stand by while one of our own is being mistreated. To this end, Cornelius is putting your relatives on trial."

"But...they weren't _that_ bad –"

"They were awful, Harry. Never believe otherwise. That hag was your mother's only sister and she locked you in a _cupboard!_"

Harry did not argue. He was glad to be away from the Dursleys, but he did not think they deserved to go to prison. After all, he had just been left at their doorstep from what little Aunt Petunia had told him. That they had not carted him off to the nearest group home or left him in an alley somewhere warranted their freedom, in his opinion. If anything, whoever had decided to leave him there should be the one on trial.

"But that is not quite all," said Nicole. "This morning, Cornelius held an official press conference confirming that we have adopted you. As such, your brief appearance at the trial will mark your official return to the wizarding world as a member of our family. It would be best, I think, if you said as little as possible. There are so many traditions and customs that we've yet to teach you and, until then, you're probably not _quite_ ready to appear in public. Not that there's anything wrong with that!" She had probably misunderstood Harry's nervousness as aggravation. "You'll find that wizards are highly concerned with silly niceties. Don't worry, you'll become a drone like the rest of us, soon." She smiled as she said this, but it did not really seem like a joke to Harry.

"Finished?" she said, and before Harry could reply, the breakfast remains had disappeared. "Now, let's see if we can't smarten you up. Stand up." Harry did as he was told, still reeling from the revelation that he was to stand in front of a huge room full of people.

Nicole twirled her wand and Harry's oversized jumper and faded jeans were replaced by robes so huge that they trailed behind him like a wedding dress.

"This is one of Cornelius', I'm afraid. Remind me that we need to buy you a new wardrobe later."

A jab of her wand and the robes retracted so that they just about fit him. They felt a little awkward, but looked fine.

"Where did the clothes I was wearing go?" asked Harry.

"Where these robes were, in our wardrobe. It was a switching spell, you see."

"So does every spell have a different wand movement?"

"Every spell family does, certainly. There are very slight differences within each family, of course, but that only affects the potency of the spell, not the overall effect. But anyway, none of this is useful to you until next year. What is useful is for you to go upstairs and do something about that hair of yours. We shall meet at the entrance in half an hour."

An hour later, Nicole descended the stairs, her dress trickling over the wooden floor like a velvety stream. Far from apologise for her own lateness, she stared pointedly at Harry's hair. "What did I tell you?"

"It stays like this no matter what." And before he could stop himself, he blurted, "I thought you were going to be half an hour."

Harry tried to splutter an apology, but Nicole merely laughed. "What you must learn, young sir, is that when we women say we'll be half an hour, we rarely mean it. Now take my arm."

"Kingsley said we can't Apparate in the cottage."

"He can't, we can."

He held on to Nicole's arm, which felt thin and brittle, particularly compared to Kingsley's muscular one. A moment of suffocation and they materialised in the Atrium. Apart from a harried-looking wizard who was tearing across the hall towards the lifts, it was empty.

"Don't slouch, my dear," muttered Nicole as they walked. "And try not to scuff your feet."

"Good morning, Mrs Fudge," said a badly-shaven man who sat behind a desk. He was looking a little shifty, in Harry's opinion, as though he had recently been doing something he should not have been doing.

"Good morning, Eric," said Nicole in clipped tones.

"Bless my soul...Harry Potter?"

"Come, Harry," murmured Nicole, but it was too late. Eric had vaulted his desk and was shaking Harry's hand so hard, Harry thought he would take his whole arm off.

"I read the _Daily Prophet_, of course. I can't believe it...damn Muggles...and _Dumbledore_ of all people...and to think I used to _pity_ Muggles..."

Harry smiled weakly, not really understanding half of what the strange man was saying. It was particularly unnerving that the man was staring, transfixed, at Harry's forehead.

"Thank you, Eric," said Nicole coldly, "but we have an appointment to be getting to."

"Oh, of course." He rummaged around his pockets and produced what looked like a foil-wrapped piece of chocolate, though Harry had never seen a chocolate bar in that shape before. Eric thrust the chocolate into Harry's hand. "It's the least I can do, Mr Potter," he said.

As he was being steered towards the lift, Harry studied the wrapper. It read, 'Chocolate Frogs'.

"Let me see that," said Nicole as they stepped into the lift. "Yes, it's safe, the magical seal hasn't been broken." She handed the Chocolate Frog back and pressed the number nine button. The grilles slid shut and the lift ascended. "It is important that you do not accept anything from strangers. You are very famous in our world, especially now, and there may be some Muggle-lovers who wish to do you harm in order to hurt Cornelius."

"I understand," said Harry. He unwrapped the Chocolate Frog and found a card in there. It showed a man's face, a man who wore half-moon glasses, had a long crooked nose and flowing silver hair. Underneath the picture was the name _Albus Dumbledore_. Harry turned over the card and found a paragraph explaining his achievements.

"I'd keep that if I were you," said Nicole as they left the lift. "I imagine it will be one of the last in production."

"Why?"

"It's a long story. Suffice to say, he is the man responsible for your stay at the Dursleys."

Harry looked back down at the picture, his brows furrowed. From the way the man smiled warmly at him, he could not imagine he would purposefully put Harry in the care of the Dursleys. Then he remembered what Kingsley had said about not trusting appearances.

"Don't dawdle, Harry."

They walked down an eerie corridor, through an opening to the left and down a flight of stairs. With every step they took, Harry's nerves grew. His palms were sweaty, his heart pounded so hard he could feel it against his throat, his hands shook violently. It did not help that they were in a corridor that looked more like a dungeon.

They came at last to a heavy wooden door with an immense iron lock. Nicole gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"You'll do just fine."

Harry gasped; stone benches full of people rose either side of him and ran along the dark stone walls as far as he could see. Worst of all, every pair of eyes was fixed on him. Harry wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

Nicole leant beside him so that they were face to face. Her strong perfume seemed to calm him, or perhaps that was his light-headedness.

"I have to sit on one of those benches," she said, vainly trying to smooth his hair. "Just be brave and answer honestly, that's all they want."

Harry nodded, trying to look braver than he felt.

"The Ministry of Magic calls forth Harry James Potter, resident at Dante Cottage, Lake District."

Harry walked towards the cold male voice. Though he had known the Dursleys would be there, his stomach performed a back flip when he saw Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon sitting in chairs at the centre of the room, covered in chains. Uncle Vernon was glaring at Harry and his face had gone an alarming shade of purple. Aunt Petunia simply refused to look at him. A tall, thin man Harry recognised as Albus Dumbledore was slowly pacing up and down before them. He stopped momentarily and fixed Harry with the same benign smile as his Chocolate Frog card counterpart.

Feeling slightly sick, Harry flicked his gaze up at the bench above. There were about fifty rather old-looking witches and wizards who all wore the same plum-coloured robes with an elaborate silver 'W' above their heart. All fifty were staring at him; some smiled, some seemed dumb-founded.

In the very middle of the front row sat Cornelius, who smiled warmly at Harry. A toad-like woman with a pink bow sat at his left and a broad, austere woman with very short hair sat to his right.

"Take a seat, Harry," said Cornelius. Harry sat in a wooden seat that had not been there seconds before.

Cornelius cleared his throat. "You are Harry James Potter, formerly of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?"

"Yes," croaked Harry.

"There is no need to be nervous," said Cornelius fondly. "We only want to ask you a few harmless questions and ask that you answer them truthfully. Can you do that for me, Harry?"

"Yes."

"I must once again object to the use of a child in a full criminal trial," said Dumbledore lightly. "Clause Sixteen, Paragraph Four –"

"We are familiar with the clause," said Cornelius coldly. "As I have already intimated, the clause provides exceptions which Harry clearly qualifies for. Now, if there are no more interruptions... Harry, if you would, could you corroborate that when Auror Shacklebolt found you on the Fifteenth of August, you had been chased up a tree by a dangerous dog."

"Yes," said Harry, staring at his feet now.

"And who did this dog belong to?"

"Aunt Marge."

"For the record, the witness has identified Marge Dursley, sister of Vernon Dursley. But surely, Harry, your relatives immediately called the dog off?"

"No, they were in the living room."

"But they had seen you surely? Aurors Shacklebolt and Savage have said you were clearly visible from the kitchen and crying for help."

"A-Aunt Petunia saw me once," said Harry truthfully.

"So your mother's sister, your own flesh and blood, saw you in grave danger and callously left you to your fate. The dog would have mauled you to death and she would have lost her wizard house-elf." Harry thought Cornelius was going a little over-the-top, but his nerves prevented him from speaking up. "Which room did you live in, Harry?"

"The cupboard under the stairs," said Harry.

"The _cupboard_ under the stairs," repeated Cornelius. He pointed his wand at his temple and pulled something silvery out. With a flick of his wand, the silvery substance hurtled at one of the walls and a huge image of his old cupboard was projected. An angry murmur filtered across the room. Everything, from the tiniest stain to the largest cobweb, was crystal clear. "Is this the room you slept in since the age of _one_?"

"Yes," mumbled Harry.

"Now, Harry," said Cornelius kindly, "this may be a difficult question to answer, but did any of your relatives physically abuse you in any way."

"No!"

"It's ok to tell us Harry."

"They didn't abuse me!"

"Ok, Harry," said Cornelius, his tone making it clear that he had not believed him. "No further questions."

The angry murmur had become a buzz, and Harry could practically feel the hatred pouring from the benches and attacking the Dursleys like a swarm of bees.

Albus Dumbledore took a few steps towards Harry and fixed him with an inviting smile. Harry felt as though Dumbledore could see right through him.

"Harry, my name is Albus Dumbledore. I imagine you are extremely busy settling into your new home so I will only trouble you with a simple question. Did you feel safe with your relatives?"

A deathly silence descended. Harry thought about it; despite how miserable it had been at number four, he could only answer, "Yes."

Another murmur rippled through the benches and Cornelius' triumphant smile had been wiped off his face.

"That is a deliberately vague question designed to mislead the boy!" he snarled. "I want it struck from the record!"

"It is a valid question," said the austere woman to his right. "If there are no further questions for Mr Potter, he is excused."

As Nicole led him out of the courtroom, he heard the words 'necessary protection' and 'blood magic' in an important-sounding speech Dumbledore was giving.


	3. Diagon Alley

* * *

– CHAPTER THREE** –**

**Diagon Alley

* * *

**

"You really are the smallest ten year-old I've ever encountered," said Madam Malkin.

"Thanks," said Harry irritably.

He had spent the past hour being nudged by pins, surrounded by tape measures and had tried on at least a hundred pair of robes. He tried to appear grateful to Nicole, but it was proving difficult when his arms, which had been held out for at least half an hour, felt as though they would fall off.

"Doesn't he look handsome in those?" said Nicole.

Harry glanced at the mirror. These robes were quite tight fitting and forest green, but they were probably Harry's favourite.

"Once he puts on some meat, the girls will be swooning over him," said Madam Malkin, making Harry blush.

"I quite agree. Package this one up."

"Would you like to see the new Laurence Chevalier design? It's all the rage in the States. I've got a huge waiting list for them, but I'm sure we can work something out –"

"I think these will be enough to be getting on with," said Nicole, gesturing to the huge piles of boxes that overwhelmed Madam Malkin's desk. "Charge it to my account."

"But I can pay for it!" said Harry. Nicole had told him of the 'small fortune' that lay in his parents' vault – a fortune that now belonged to him. He had hoped that this meant the Fudges would not have to spend any of their money on him.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Nicole dismissively. She flicked her wand and the packages disappeared. "Shall we get some ice cream?"

"Yes!" said Harry, who had been yearning to go inside Florean Fortescue's since he had first laid eyes on it. "Thanks so much for your help Madam Malkin."

"You're very welcome, Mr Potter," beamed Madam Malkin. "Such a polite young man! You'd never have thought –"

"Thank you, Marianne. I assume you will be attending the Summer Ball next week?"

"Wouldn't miss it! And I'll get that donation to the Foundation by the end of the week."

"You're too kind," smiled Nicole. "I'll see you then."

Harry and Nicole made the quick trip across the road to Fortescue's and, at Nicole's insistence, bought the largest sundae they made.

"What's going to happen to the Dursleys?" asked Harry.

"Most likely they'll serve a prison sentence," said Nicole, her tone making it clear she did not want to discuss the trial.

"What about Dudley?"

"Put them out of your mind, Harry. Are you enjoying your sundae?"

Harry nodded. "So was Albus Dumbledore the man my parents trusted?"

Nicole sighed. "Yes, and he let them down."

"But how come he was allowed to just take me away?"

"He is – was – an extremely respected wizard. The Ministry assumed he would do what's best for you."

"But why didn't Cornelius have Aurors check up on me sooner?"

"Cornelius was not Minister for Magic..." Nicole trailed off and Harry noticed for the first time that two boys were gawping at him. They were completely identical – from the striking red hair to the freckles that adorned their faces. "May I help you?" snapped Nicole.

"Surely not..."

"...it can't be..."

"Harry Potter!" cried the twins in unison.

"I know," said Harry. He noticed that the ice-cream parlour had suddenly become very quiet. Eyes were peeking over newspapers and necks were being craned.

"If you don't mind," said Nicole sweetly, "Harry and I are enjoying our ice-creams in private."

"Fred! George!" A plump woman with red hair and shabby robes bustled over, a young girl in tow. She glared at the twins. "What an earth are you doing wandering off and bothering strangers?"

"But mum, this is Harry Potter!"

The young girl squeaked in excitement and even the mother looked momentarily stunned. Nicole cleared her throat and wore the same look of disdain she had around Kingsley.

"Oh, Nicole, I do apologise for my sons! They'll kill me one day, I tell you." The woman laughed nervously.

"That's quite alright, Molly," said Nicole coldly.

Molly led her children away, hissing angrily at her sons all the while. As the door to the shop swung shut, Harry overheard he little girl say, "I can't believe we saw Harry Potter! Ron's going to be sooo jealous!"

"Weasleys," said Nicole dismissively, as though that explained everything. She shot a dangerous look at something over Harry's shoulder. He turned to look, but there was only an empty table.

"How do you know them?" asked Harry.

"I went to school with the mother. And anyway, there are so few of us left that we all know one another whether we like it or not."

"But there are _loads_ of wizards," said Harry, who had been surprised at how packed Diagon Alley was.

Nicole laughed. "Of course there are a healthy number of magic-users, but there are very few of the old pure-blood families left."

"Pure-blood?"

"Gosh, I forget how little you know. A pure-blood is someone who has wizards as parents."

"So I'm a pure-blood?"

"Not quite – your mother was a Muggle-born; someone who had Muggle parents. I guess a more accurate description of a pure-blood is someone who has magical grandparents. And for some, even that is not enough."

"Why?"

Nicole sighed. "There are a lot of intricacies that even grown wizards struggle with. There are a handful of ancient pure-blood families, like your father's for example, that trace their family trees through thousands of years of pure-bloods. Of course," she laughed, "there are many cover-ups for Squibs – a Muggle with magical parents – and wizards who marry Muggles."

Harry frowned. "But if there are only a few of them, then that must mean –"

"Yes, the marriage between two extended family members was, and is, common-place. In fact, it is the only way to preserve purity these days, especially with so many of the great families dying out or staining their purity. I mean, look at the Blacks..."

Nicole trailed off and looked once more over Harry's shoulder. This time, instead of an empty table, there was a mother and child entering the parlour. The mother was tall, slim with blond hair and wore expensive-looking black robes. The boy's hair was not so much blonde as it was platinum; he was pale, like his mother, but had a pointed face.

The mother caught sight of Nicole and smiled. Harry noticed that Nicole had stood up and followed suit.

"Narcissa!" said Nicole, kissing Narcissa once on each cheek. "And young Draco, what a surprise!" She offered her hand to Draco, who kissed it. "Harry, I would like you to meet Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco Malfoy. Narcissa, Draco, this is Harry Potter."

Draco's face went from bored to surprise almost immediately. His mother, however, merely smiled and offered her bony hand as Nicole had done. Harry mimicked the Draco boy and kissed it.

"I suppose you have the scar, then," said Draco.

"Draco," snapped Narcissa.

"Sit down and join us," said Nicole.

The table expanded and two extra chairs materialised.

"My husband and I were pained to hear of your previous living situation," said Narcissa after ordering a coffee for herself and a large sundae for Draco. "Thankfully the Minister is ensuring that justice is served."

"This is why we shouldn't associate with the other sort," sniffed Draco. "Father says Muggles are like animals."

"Not all Muggles are like my Aunt and Uncle," said Harry, liking the boy less and less.

"Why don't you talk about Quidditch," said Narcissa warningly.

"What's Quidditch?" asked Harry.

Draco gaped at Harry. "Don't tell me you don't know about Quidditch!"

"I was raised by Muggles," said Harry coolly.

"Oh, well it's the best game in the _world_. I could ride before I could walk – Father says I'm a natural." With that, Draco was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing all the famous players he had met and the great games he had been to.

"Of course, we aren't allowed to get _real_ broomsticks yet," he said, shooting his mother an annoyed glance. "But when we are, I'm getting a Nimbus Two Thousand for sure. First years aren't allowed to play, but I'm sure _I'll_ get an exception. Father and Severus Snape are quite close, you see –"

"Who's Severus Snape?"

"Don't you read the Practical Potioneer?"

"Muggle background, remember," sighed Harry. He was getting a little tired of Draco's boasting.

"Oh, yeah. Gosh, that must have been _unbearable_. Anyway, Snape is head of Slytherin House, and they say heads of house have the power to overrule the first year Quidditch ban."

Harry merely nodded, making a note to ask Nicole what Slytherin House was later – he was quite tired of Draco telling him everything.

"So," said Draco, dropping his voice so his mother would not hear, "do you remember what _He_ looks like?"

"Who?"

"The Dark Lord, of course."

"No, not really."

"You don't remember _anything_?" pushed Draco.

"Well, I do remember a flash of green light, but that's it."

Harry noticed that Narcissa and Nicole had stopped talking. Narcissa gave him a curious look before saying, "I think it's time we get going, Lucius will be waiting on us."

"Oh, that's a shame," said Nicole, "you really must come by the cottage more often, especially now that Draco has someone to play with."

"Yes, I must say it would be a healthy change from those Crabbe and Goyle children."

"There's nothing wrong with Vincent and Greg," muttered Draco.

"Of course not," said Narcissa dismissively, "but wouldn't it be nice for you to spend time with someone who is more of an _equal?_" Privately, Harry would not welcome any more time with Draco, but he did not voice this.

"He's not really an equal," said Draco.

Narcissa's smile dropped for the first time. "Take that back, Draco."

"Fine," snapped Draco, "can we go now? You promised me we'd visit Quality Quidditch Supplies." With that, Draco stood up and headed towards the exit. He did not look over his shoulder to see if his mother was following.

"I do apologise," said Narcissa, also standing up, "he can be so obnoxious sometimes. It was nice meeting you, Harry." She turned to Nicole. "I will send Dobby along with dinner arrangements later." She and Nicole kissed on each cheek once more and she was gone.

"I'm sure you two will be best friends once he loosens up a bit," said Nicole when Narcissa had gone.

"If you say so," said Harry, far from convinced.

"He's just...you've got to understand that he rarely sees other boys his age. And that father of his hardly helps..."

"You know his father?"

"Yes, he and Cornelius work together," she said, "which means you probably will see Draco more often."

"Great," said Harry.

"Enough of that sarcasm, you," said Nicole fondly.

Harry was going to ask if they could explore the Alley more when two things happened a split second apart. A huge tremor rippled through the building so violently that Harry flew off his chair and landed hands-first on the cold, hard floor.

At that exact same moment, a burly figure appeared and engulfed Harry so all he could see was black robe.

There were shrieks, footsteps running, furniture crashing.

He smelt burnt wood, smoke and sweat.

"A safe route has been cleared, Auror Shacklebolt. They can be transported to Emergency Portkey Four now."

A large hand grabbed his arm and lifted him to his feet.

"Kingsley?" said Harry.

"Yes, but we can't talk."

Harry felt a tap on his head and got the odd sensation that thick, cold syrup was running down his body. In the next second, Harry was breathing nothing but clean, fresh air. He raised his hand towards his face, but was met by an invisible barrier.

Kingsley took Harry's hand and they were off.

"What about Nicole?"

"Mrs Fudge is with another Auror, she's perfectly safe. If you don't stop talking, I'll be forced to silence you, Harry."

They stepped out into the Alley and Harry gasped. Where Madam Malkin's once stood was a pile of wood and rubble. Smoke rose in perfect concentric circles from the mound and, where the roof had once been, formed a gigantic misty wand that slowly rotated. A chill ran down Harry's spine; there was something oddly ominous about it.

Below, wizards in red and white robes swarmed over the area; some were trying to repair the damage, some were searching through the ruins and some were unsuccessfully trying to banish the wand.

Before Harry could take in any more of the scene, he was whisked away. He was led a little way down the road before taking a sharp left into an unused side-alley. Kingsley picked up a cracked glass bottle and muttered something. He felt a tug at his navel and the alley swirled out of sight.

For the second time, Harry found himself on the floor. As he stood up, he realised he was in the living room of Dante Cottage.

"Oh, Harry!"

Nicole pulled him into a tight hug. When she finally released him, she turned to Kingsley and another Auror Harry did not recognise. "Thank you both, you have performed your duties most admirably." Her tone made it clear that she had just dismissed them.

"We are under the strictest orders to stay with you until told otherwise," said Kingsley.

"Must we have this conversation every –"

But Nicole was interrupted by the appearance of Cornelius at the door. He was looking even more harried than usual; he was twirling his bowler hat so much it was no more than a green blur.

"Nicole, Harry, thank goodness you're alright!"

"Is Madam Malkin ok?" asked Harry.

Cornelius exchanged an alarmed look with Kingsley. "Erm...well, we don't know at this stage...they've taken her away, St Mungo's, I believe, but yes, she should be..."

"It was the People's Wand, wasn't it, Cornelius?" said Nicole.

Cornelius practically jumped. "Now, now, Nicole, I hardly think this is appropriate, he _is_ only ten after all..."

"What's the People's Wand?" asked Harry.

Nicole somehow poured herself a drink with her eyes fixed on her husband. Cornelius laid a sympathetic hand on Harry's shoulder.

"They're just a group of thugs, Harry, nothing to worry about. Put them out of your mind."

"He's going to –"

"Nicole, you're not in the right frame of mind," snapped Cornelius. "Harry, go to your room."

"But –"

Cornelius cut Harry off. "Nicole and I need to talk in private. Please go to your room, Harry."

Feeling annoyed and mutinous, Harry went to his room, the sound of raised voices following him up.

-

That evening, three figures entered a dark, dingy pub whose only two occupants were a man with fair hair and a large belly, and the old barman who was cleaning a glass with a brown cloth that seemed to make it filthier.

"Is it done?" asked the fair-haired man as soon as the three figures, two men and a woman, sat down.

"Not quite," said a man with long, wild hair. "There were complications."

"What complications?"

"The target left before we could nab him." The man with fair hair sighed. "There's, err, something else. We kind of still went through with the second stage of the plan."

The fair-haired man slammed his cup onto the table. "What! Why?"

"We thought, given the circumstances, we should, you know, send the message. That we _could've_ –"

"The only message this sends is that we botched up an assassination attempt! Do you know how this looks? We were only meant to kidnap the boy. Shit, this is bad..."

The woman with short, spiky brown hair spoke up for the first time. "Calm down, Theodore."

"Calm down? Don't you see what this means? That bumbling excuse for a Minister will have the boy under heavy protection from now on! There's no way we can get at him!"

"This'll harm Fudge's recent upswing, though," said the long-haired man.

"All we were meant to do was go in, kidnap the boy, evacuate the building and destroy it. That's all. But now..."

"It's true that we might have to wait a while," said the man who had yet to speak, "but, eventually, the Minister will make a mistake and we can act."

"I don't see why you can't just –"

"And compromise my career? You really want to ruin the chance for one of us to be Head Auror? Isn't that the whole point of this thing of ours?"

Theodore sighed. "I suppose..."

"Look, at the very latest, the boy starts at Hogwarts next year..."

"Yeah, let's sneak into the most secure place in the country," scoffed Theodore.

"With Dumbledore goes half its security. All we need is a little creativity – those inbreds assume that we think like them."

Theodore leaned back in his chair. A moment's silence. Then, "You know what? You might just have a point there, Kingsley."


	4. Azkaban

* * *

– CHAPTER FOUR** –**

**Azkaban

* * *

**

"There really is nothing to do in this house," said Draco.

"Then go back to your palace and chase the peacocks," said Harry, not looking up from _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century._

"All you do is sit on this stupid porch all day reading books."

"Nobody asked you to come here and annoy me."

"If anything, _you're_ annoying _me_. It's hardly my fault that Mother dragged me here. Frankly, I've had better conversations with Flobberworms than you."

"You talk to Flobberworms? Well, I guess I would if I only had those two thugs as friends."

"At least I _have_ friends."

"Shut up, I'm trying to read."

"You shut up."

"No, you shut up."

"You."

"You."

"Stupid scar-faced idiot," snapped Draco and he vaulted the steps and made for the meadow.

"Stuck-up spoilt brat," called Harry after him.

It had been two weeks since Madam Malkin's had been attacked and the novelty of Dante Cottage was starting to wear off. Now that he was used to mirrors talking to him, the house-elf appearing utterly at random and important-looking witches and wizards suddenly stepping out the fireplace, Harry decided he had less freedom now than he had at the Dursleys. True, the reason he was allowed to roam about outside was because his Aunt and Uncle did not care about him, but he was still starting to feel a little suffocated.

After they had nearly gotten in the middle of the terrorist attack, Cornelius had insisted that Harry remain at home until it was safe. He had even tried to get a round-the-clock Auror guard for him, but Nicole had put her foot down. Harry suspected that Cornelius had gone through with it anyway – he was sure he saw the air ripple out of the corner of his eye every now and then, and had even heard a cough once.

Worse than the imprisonment was the company of Draco Malfoy. In the past fourteen days, Narcissa and Draco had visited them ten times. Furthermore, he and Nicole had gone to the Malfoys at their colossal manor twice without Cornelius' knowledge. And now, a fortnight later, Harry's opinion of Draco had not changed. He would spend hours talking _at_ Harry. About his winged horses, his oh-so-important father, his prodigious flying skill and, of course, how disgusting Muggles were and how great it was that they would be the first to go Hogwarts without 'Mudbloods'.

Mostly to please Nicole, Harry had tried to be friendly – he gave Draco chess matches, tried to talk to him, tried to play games like hide-and-seek, but it was all in vain. So Harry would read interesting books on how the wizard world worked and what you could do with magic while Draco droned on.

"Harry, where's Draco?"

Harry looked up. Nicole was standing by the front door with her hands on her hips. "Out in the meadow, I think," said Harry.

"By himself?"

"He finally decided he doesn't need two people to make a conversation."

"Harry..."

Harry sighed and put his book down. "Fine, I'll go and find him."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you..."

"...he's not used to boys his age, I know. You'd have thought after two weeks –"

"Just be patient with him, dear. Narcissa and I are going to run a few errands; we should be back by sunset. If you need me, send Honker, ok?"

"Ok."

Annoyed, Harry traipsed down the path. Despite it being late afternoon, the sun beat down with such intensity that there were heat currents meandering in and out of his vision. Harry was squinting so much he could barely see in front of him. He had left the shaded, cool porch for _this_.

He spotted Draco lounging under a willow tree some way from the path. He was picking up twigs and chucking them in the pond, much to the chagrin of the family of ducks that Harry fed every morning.

"Stop doing that," said Harry, when he was within earshot. Draco squeaked in surprise, making Harry nearly collapse with laughter.

Draco's face turned a healthy shade of pink. "You tell me to go away then you come back like a house-elf," he snapped, his face contorted into a scowl.

"Nicole says I'm to babysit you," said Harry.

"Piss off, Potter."

Before Harry could retort, a loud _crack_ reverberated around the meadow. Alarmed, the ducks flew off into the distance. Cornelius had appeared near them, looking rather anxious. His bowler hat was nowhere to be seen; Harry took that to be a bad sign.

"Harry, m'boy! Oh, and Draco, how charming, how wonderful."

"Are you alright?" asked Harry.

"Me? Of course, I am. What a question to ask!"

"Are you back from work already?" said Harry, surprised. Only once had Cornelius come home before Harry's bed time and even then he had been called back into office after dinner.

"Unfortunately not. No, not quite. Is, err, Nicole around?"

"Nope, she went off with Narcissa."

Cornelius looked relived. "How would you like to go on a trip with me?"

"A trip!" cried Harry, jumping to his feet.

"Yes, I'm going on my semi-annual inspection of Azkaban. I think it would be good for morale and, well, fun. What do you think? You want to come along?"

"Definitely! Oh, but Nicole said..."

Cornelius looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, I'm sure Lucius wouldn't mind, I mean we've cleared the Dementors out, of course..."

"You mean I can come to Azkaban as well, Minister?" asked Draco.

"Hmm, I don't see why not! Harry might need some company anyway... yes, yes you can come too."

Draco looked as though he had been told he would play Quidditch for England. "Wait until Vince and Greg hear about _this_," he breathed.

"Excellent," said Cornelius. "Now, I have a Portkey that will take us directly to the entrance of the prison, where we'll be met by a few Ministry officials and members of the press. We'll talk to them for a while before entering the tower itself. Now, and this is of the utmost importance, _you must not wander off_. Some of the most deranged and dangerous wizards in the world are in that prison and while they can't obviously harm you, I don't want you going near them. Do you understand?"

"Yes," they said.

"Good." Fudge rummaged around his pocket and produced an eagle-feather quill. "Now, I want you to both grab on to this." Harry grabbed the nib while Draco took the other end. "Three, two, one."

Harry felt that all too familiar tug at his navel and the meadow, the sunlight and the heat disappeared.

Harry's first experience of Azkaban was lying on the cold, smooth, black floor. His nostrils were filled with wave upon wave of cold, salty sea air. As he dragged himself to his feet, he noted with irritation that both Cornelius and Draco had landed on their feet.

Harry tore his eyes from Draco's sneering face and took in his surroundings. They were standing on a small path that sliced through giant, jagged outcrops of black rock that glistened like beetle eyes. There was a thundering crash and Harry jumped. Foam sprayed in all directions.

"It's just a wave," said Cornelius. "Come along now, boys."

Harry glanced up. Thick, grey clouds spiralled above them and stretched out as far as he could see. In the distance all around them, he saw dark shadows that seemed to hang motionless in the air.

But nothing compared to the construction before them. A grey, medieval tower grew out of the black rock and loomed over them like a giant admonitory finger.

"T-That's Azkaban?" asked Draco in a small voice.

"Yes, now come along."

As they walked towards a small group of people, Harry felt his eyes flick up towards the building every now and then. It was like it had some kind of gravitational pull and Harry could not ignore its presence for any significant period of time.

"Cornelius!"

The toad-like woman Harry had seen at the Dursleys' trial was the first to greet them. She smiled widely at Harry but her smile dropped when she set eyes on Draco.

"Harry, Draco, this is Dolores Umbridge, my Senior Undersecretary."

"I know who she is," muttered Draco, who seemed less than impressed with her.

"Do you think this wise?" asked Umbridge, blinking an unnatural amount.

"Lucius will be fine with it," said Cornelius firmly.

Umbridge's jaw dropped, making her look like she was waiting for a particularly elusive fly. "He doesn't _know_ -?"

But Umbridge was interrupted by the approaching group. From what Harry could tell, there were four Aurors, the blonde reporter, her photographer and another man he did not recognise. The reporter, Skeeter, was eyeing him with relish.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," she said. The acid-green quill she had used last time was already quivering over a piece of parchment. Cornelius cleared his throat and Skeeter reluctantly looked away from Harry. "Minister, how wonderful to see you! You don't object if I ask Harry a few questions? Bozo, take some photos of the esteemed Minister."

"What about me?" demanded Draco.

Skeeter waved an apathetic hand in Draco's direction. "Get a few of Harry's little friend as well." Harry would have corrected her, but he was enjoying the fury on Draco's face. "So, Harry, how are you finding it living with the Minister?"

"It's good," said Harry. He noticed that the quill seemed to have gleaned an entire paragraph from his statement.

"You don't have anything to add beyond 'it's good'?" pressed Skeeter.

"It's a beautiful house and Cornelius and Nicole have been really good to me."

Skeeter looked as though she did not believe him. "Right. How did you feel after the attempted assassination?"

"Huh?"

Skeeter peered at Harry over her glasses. "Come now, Harry, don't be shy. How did it make you feel? Scared, or hungry for revenge?"

"Nobody tried to kill me," said Harry. He glanced over at Cornelius who was holding court with the other man and the photographer.

Skeeter nodded sympathetically. "So you haven't been told? That attack on Madam Malkin's was meant for you. How do you feel now? Betrayed by your carers?"

"But why would those terrorists want to kill _me_?"

"A million reasons," said Skeeter impatiently. "Now I'm guessing you're a little scared that there is a blood-thirsty group of rebels using all their resources to kill you?"

"I-I don't know what to think..."

"And you must be feeling angry at the Minister for keeping you locked up and completely in the dark?"

"Well, I dunno..."

"And perhaps a thirst for revenge for how, rumour has it, the People's Wand betrayed your mother?"

A hand rested on Harry's shoulder, making him flinch violently. But it was only Cornelius.

"I trust you're finished with Harry?" he asked.

"Of course," said Skeeter, but her heavy frown betrayed her. Bozo took a few pictures of Harry and Cornelius together before he, Skeeter and the man Cornelius had been talking to earlier Portkeyed away.

Harry was reeling from the bombshells Skeeter had dropped on him. The People's Wand were trying to kill him! That was what Nicole had tried to tell him after the attack. But Cornelius did not want him to know. He thought Harry was too young, that he would be scared. Everything was starting to make sense now. Harry had been made to stay within the protection of the cottage in case they tried to attack him again.

But what was the last thing Skeeter had said? That the People's Wand had tried to kill his mother, too? No, he reminded himself, they had betrayed her. _Betrayed_, not attacked. Did that mean she had been part of them at one time? Maybe the betrayal referred to what they were doing right now – the attempted murder of the son of a former member. But his mother, a member? Harry tried to dismiss the idea, but it clung to him like a shadow.

One thing was clear to Harry. He needed to find the truth. He needed to know. The adults had been protecting him, but he had to find it.

"Watch it, Potter!"

Draco's angry hiss roused him from his stupor. Apparently he had stepped on the hem of Draco's robe.

"Sorry," muttered Harry.

"Sorry? What the hell has gotten into you? We're in _Azkaban_ and all you can do is stare at your feet like some crackpot."

Harry looked around him for the first time since the interview. They were in a seemingly endless corridor. The individual bricks that made up the walls were exposed, each displaying a different level of weathering. The sound of dripping water echoed down the corridor, but they could not see beyond the wand-light the Aurors were providing.

They stopped and Cornelius tapped one of the bricks with his wand. The bricks groaned as they parted, revealing a round, iron door. Cornelius knocked three times and the door swung open, revealing an office of sorts. It was so brightly lit that Harry had to shield his eyes. He soon found the source of the light – inexplicably, the window on the far side of the room depicted an ocean view. A portly man was snoozing behind the desk.

"Hem hem." Umbridge's little cough immediately roused the man. "Not disturbing you are we, Neil?" she asked sweetly.

"N-No, of course not! Minister! Madam Umbridge! How wonderful to see you both!"

"We're going to leave Harry here, as we agreed. You will also be keeping an eye on young Draco Malfoy. Is that alright?" asked Cornelius, his look of disdain making it clear he certainly did _not_ think it would be alright.

"Of course!"

"You're leaving us here?" said Harry. "I thought we were going to go to Azkaban with you!"

"And here you are," said Cornelius.

"But this is rubbish! What's the point in even bringing us in the first place?"

"You surely didn't think the Minister would expose you to the prisoners, did you?" laughed Umbridge. Her girlish voice was really starting to grate on Harry's nerves.

"We're not scared of them!" snapped Draco.

"Exactly," Harry agreed.

Cornelius eyed them sympathetically. "I'm sorry, boys, but this is for your own good." With that, the adults left the room and the door slammed shut behind them.

"This is bollocks," seethed Harry.

"It's for your own good," yawned Neil. Within seconds, he had dozed off again.

Draco looked at Harry and Harry looked at Draco. They knew exactly what the other was thinking and were both willing to set their differences aside in aid of a greater cause.

"Check if he's asleep," whispered Harry. He watched as Draco prodded Neil.

"He's out –" But Draco stopped in his tracks. Something on Neil's desk seemed to have caught his eye. He raised a golden goblet and sniffed at it.

"It's been spiked with a very mild Sleeping Draught," he said.

"How do you know?"

"Father taught me how to distinguish and brew all the important potions."

"How come he woke up before, then?"

Draco shrugged. "I dunno, it's only mild. Maybe he's scared of Umbridge or something and her voice overcame the potion. That happens sometimes. All that matters is –"

The door clicked.

"You think that was them locking us in?" asked Harry.

"No, they've long gone," said Draco. "Well, aren't you going to check?"

Harry crept up to the door, keeping his ears perked. It did not sound as though there was someone on the other side, but that did not steady his racing heart. His hand shaking a little, he grasped the brass handle and turned it.

The door creaked open. The sunlight streamed out from behind him and illuminated the corridor outside. It was empty.

"See," said Harry, glancing back over his shoulder, "nothing to be scared of."

"I wasn't _scared_," said Draco, who strutted across the room.

Harry stepped out into the corridor, and Draco followed closely behind him. The door creaked behind them.

"Don't let it close!" cried Harry.

But it was too late. With a thunderous clang, the door slammed shut and they were plunged into utter darkness.

"Why did you let it close?"

"It's your fault, not mine," said Draco.

Harry snarled as he passed his hand over where the door had been. There was nothing but coarse stone.

"Brilliant," said Draco, "really well done. Now we're stuck in the dark because of your dim-witted plan –"

"_My_ dim-witted plan? This was your bloody idea!"

"I shouldn't even _be_ in this stupid –"

"Shut up and look ahead," snapped Harry. Maybe his blind eyes were playing tricks with him, but ahead, piercing the heavy darkness was a faint, silvery figure. "Let's head for it."

"Head for what? I can't see anything! You're hallucinating, you dumb –"

"Shut up and follow me."

"I can't even see you."

Harry sighed. "Follow the sound of my footsteps, then."

Harry blindly waved his arms out in front of him and slowly staggered towards the silvery figure. Every step brought him closer and closer and closer. Finally, he could see quite clearly that it was a big cat of some kind.

"It's a lynx," breathed Draco.

As if startled by Draco's voice, the lynx darted to the left and out of sight, leaving a silvery residue in its wake.

"Hurry up," said Harry.

"I'm not sure about this..."

"Unless you're hiding a torch somewhere, we've got no other choice."

They mimicked the lynx and veered left. They were at the foot of a flight of stairs. The lynx sat on the landing and peered imperially down at them. Harry leapt up the stairs two at a time.

The lynx disappeared through a doorway. Harry followed.

There was no lynx.

He was in a corridor almost identical to the one before. Except this one was dimly lit by floating candles. Where had the lynx gone?

A man appeared out of the darkness. He had fair hair and a large belly. Harry took a couple of steps back, but he bumped into something. He glanced over his shoulder. That something was a woman with short, spiky hair.

"We've got him," said the woman, "now let's go."

"It's important we give him the chance to come voluntarily, Em," said the man.

"There's no _time_, Theodore –"

"Our orders were clear."

Harry was breathing rapidly. These were People's Wand members, that much was obvious. And they wanted to take him away before killing him. He looked around for a way out.

"I wouldn't try anything if I were you," said Theodore, and Harry saw that his wand was drawn. "Just listen to what I have to say."

Harry supposed he could kick the woman behind him, but by then, the man called Theodore would have killed him. A wave of dread crashed over him. He was utterly helpless. His only chance of escape was Draco bloody Malfoy. I'm dead already, thought Harry.

"Don't look around, Harry, focus on me." Reluctantly, Harry turned to face Theodore. Perhaps if the man kept talking, Draco would have time to call for help and the Aurors will arrive.

"As you've probably guessed," said Theodore, "we are representatives from the People's Wand. You have probably been told that we are a terrorist group – that we are trying to kill you. This is far from the truth. You see, the Minister unlawfully took you from your relatives for his own selfish needs. He compromised your security today because he wants a picture of you and him on the front page of the _Daily Prophet._

"I know you are young, and this is difficult to understand, but the Minister does not have your best interests at heart."

"And I suppose you do?" snarled Harry.

"Yes, we do. You are being used as justification for the horrendous persecution of Muggle-borns, Muggle-borns like your mother –"

"Shut up!" shouted Harry. "I know you betrayed her!"

For a moment, Theodore was speechless. Then, "Whoever told you that was lying. Listen to me, your mother fought hard for her rights, for the rights of hundreds –"

"This is useless," said the woman. "Let's just stun him and get...oof!"

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Draco had charged at the woman and they had both fallen to the floor. A red jet of light flew over Harry's shoulder and missed Draco by inches.

Harry pulled Draco to his feet. "Let's go!"

They dashed to the staircase and sprinted blindly up the stairs.

"ARGH!"

Harry glanced over at Draco. An angry red gash had appeared through the ripped material around his thigh. He grabbed Draco's arm and dragged him into a corridor. Harry struggled to support Draco. They made steady progress...

"STUN ONLY! I SAID STUN ONLY!"

"J-James?"

Then his shoulder exploded. He staggered and his world caved in.

His shoulder felt as though it was on fire, or a searing hot knife was repeatedly plunging into it, or lightning had struck it. It was beyond pain. Beyond agony. His eyes were unseeing to all but the shower of red, his ears deaf to all but the colossal pounding at the wound, his mouth numb to all but the nauseating taste of blood.

He thought he saw a huge, black dog leap over him.

And then darkness.

-

Harry heard voices. He was aware of soft material caressing his cheek.

"...he could have died, Cornelius! It was only, only sheer dumb luck –"

"The Mediwitch said he's going to be fine, Nicole –"

"Fine? FINE? Does he look _fine_ to you? I can't believe...you absolute bastard...you selfish fucking pig!"

"I won't stand for such abuse. Have you forgotten who I am?"

"And have _you_ forgotten who put you there, you blundering fool!"

"I won't stand for this in my own home!"

"_Your _home? Ha! And who sold you this home? I can't...I can't even bear to look at you. You self-serving –"

"Hark, who's speaking! You know what? I'm going to get you a Sobriety Potion, I can't handle you this way."

"Get one for yourself, you fucking hypocrite!"

"Why, Nicole? Why must it always be this way? I've done everything to please you. He is here because of _me_."

"And he was on the verge of death because of you!"

"Always with the drama..."

"You took our son to Azkaban!"

"He's not our son."

A long, heavy pause.

"Get out."

No anger, just ice.

"Nicole..."

"Get out of my house."

Harry waited until the footsteps faded before trying to open his eyes. He sat up and groped for his glasses. They were on the bedside table. As the room came into focus, he realised he was in his own room at Dante Cottage.

"Oh, Harry, you don't know how glad I am that you're alright!"

Nicole was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were red, puffy and unfocussed. She was not wearing make-up and, for the first time, Harry could see the lines on her face. Her breath reeked of alcohol.

"W-What happened?" said Harry.

"One of the terrorists hit you with a very dangerous curse. The Aurors arrived late as usual and took you away."

"I remember a dog..."

"Yes, Draco claims a giant dog attacked the terrorists but fled _with_ them when the Aurors came. It was probably the caretaker's." Nicole grabbed Harry's hand and held it a little too tightly.

"Are you ok?" asked Harry. He had never seen her like this.

"Listen to me, Harry," she said, her words a little slurred. "There are things I need to tell you, things Cornelius would want hidden from you until you're killed. But you need to know. They hide the truth and think you won't find out, but we _always_ find out..."

"What is it?" said Harry, his breath quickening.

"You are in _grave_ danger, my dear..."

"The People's Wand?"

"Worse, far worse. The man who betrayed your parents, the Dark Lord's secret agent, escaped Azkaban during your ill-advised trip."

Harry sat perfectly still.

"The man who betrayed my parents?"

"Your father's best friend. He was their secret-keeper. They would have been alive and safe today had he not given their location away. But he was the Dark Lord's man. None of us knew he had another, but he was a Death Eater..."

"And he wants to kill me?"

"Yes. He was a little deranged _before_ Azkaban, Merlin knows what he'll be like now. They say he wants to complete the set."

Fury bubbled up inside Harry. "I'm not going to hide from him, Nicole. I _want_ him to find me!"

Nicole laid a hand on Harry's cheek. "That's my little soldier. But you can't face him, not yet. And you can't seek vengeance on the People's Wand for what they've done to you either. You're too weak. You need a wand, you need to learn. I won't have _him_ keep you docile...You won't be like him..."

"Will you teach me?"

Nicole nodded furiously. "Cornelius forgets too easily...he forgets what I can do, what I have done. They all have. And I know people, people he can't possibly corrupt. I'll get you a wand, I'll have you trained. He failed you...he _failed_ you...you could be _killed_ next time....not under my watch...no..."

"When will we start?"

His question fell on deaf ears. Nicole's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed into a deep stupor.


End file.
